


Eden is a Place Like This

by lumosity (strawberry_bee)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley (Good Omens) Has PTSD, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, crowley is bad at communicating and aziraphale has to pull the weight, love these two, started out as a touch-repulsed fic but instead its fluff and communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_bee/pseuds/lumosity
Summary: “I don’t know how to accept help,” Crowley rumbled softly.“We have all of eternity to learn,” Aziraphale managed, trying his best to make his comment light-hearted. Crowley gave a short laugh.“Yeah, an eternity with me,” He said.---------talking things out in relationships(even 6000 year long ones) is important!





	Eden is a Place Like This

Since moving in together, Aziraphale was acutely aware with the amount of times that they had to dance around each other. The kitchen was marginally smaller than what he would have favored--to be fair, they could both easily gone about making the kitchen larger. But that would be avoiding the issue at hand. And they were making an honest attempt at addressing issues at the moment. 

“Excuse me, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley snaked out of the way, dodging the muffin tin full to the brim with banana bread batter. 

“Y’sure the Them can eat all that?” Crowley said doubtfully, dabbing a finger into the batter and eating it. Aziraphale tolerated the heinous crime, putting the tin into the oven before closing it. Officially, the oven wasn’t on any sort of gas line. Unofficially, it would cook the muffins the perfect amount of time so that in three hours the muffins would be perfectly warm and gooey for the children. 

“If not, you can have one,” Aziraphale allowed. Crowley hummed in agreement, already distracted by the garden through the window.

“Does Evanna look wilt-y to you?” Crowley asked, squinting at his prized rose bush that framed the kitchen window. Aziraphale moved to stand beside Crowley, placing a hand on the small of Crowley’s back. Crowley stiffened, shifting away and clumsily snatching up the mister. 

“I’m gonna go speak with her. Kind words, I promise,” The demon said, although Aziraphale had serious doubts about the kind intentions. 

He stared at his hands, wondering if there was anything the matter with them. But they were inconspicuously clean as always, and he had just gotten them manicured last night. Crowley had grumbled about the wait time, but he always grumbled about such things. It was his way of caring. 

“Crowley, dear, can I ask you something?” Aziraphale called, moving to the door before it could shut all the way. 

“Go ahead,” Crowley answered, squinting at a rather sad underperforming leaf on Evanna. Aziraphale cleared his throat. He felt like he was losing his bravery, and he really didn’t want to spend a hundred years wondering why Crowley didn’t like being touched by him. 

“Do I...Do I, erm, Crowley, is there something the matter with me when I touch you?” Aziraphale asked. He winced. Now it sounded combative. Crowley, to his credit, quirked an eyebrow at him. His snake eyes looked mildly confused, as if even he didn’t know that he avoided being touched by Aziraphale unless he initiated it. 

“No, not that I can think of,” Crowley said at last, dismissing the issue at hand. He went back to the plant. Aziraphale stalled for time, tapping one foot while he considered letting the whole thing go once more. 

“It’s just that, whenever I touch your shoulder or the small of your back, you sort of pull away, which I mean, if you don’t want me to do those things, just say the word, dear,” Aziraphale said. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Already his mind was going a hundred miles a minute, going down several paths that all led to him being unnecessarily cruel to Crowley by assuming that he wanted casual contact. 

“Oh. that?” Crowley frowned. He considered it in that way he always did, which was to say not very much at all. 

“I guess sometimes I don’t wanna be touched is all. Makes me feel all wormy,” Crowley said, making a face at the description. 

“Oh. Just with me, or others?” Aziraphale asked softly. He thought about all the times Crowley had walked arm in arm with Anathema through their garden, laughing at their perspective spouse’s antics. Or that he willingly gave the Them piggy back rides, even Brian, who was always a little sticky. 

“Everyone, I suppose. It’s just that in Hell everyone was brushing up against me, and I was brushing up against them,” Crowley took a deep breath and held it. 

“I don’t mind you touching me, angel. It’s just a reaction to other things,” Crowley said, offering a tired smile to Aziraphale. 

“Oh. Right, right. Thank you for explaining,” Aziraphale said, managing his most upbeat tone of voice. Crowley grunted in affirmation, and Aziraphale left him to it. 

Whenever Aziraphale was at a loss to do with Crowley, he always turned to literature. Not that literature was a direct answer to how confusing his husband was. Far from it. Crowley was always giving slanted answers, always slinking away before Aziraphale could drag the truth out of him. He loved Crowley for such an infuriating quirk, it helped that he was able to worry about Crowley in such a way. 

He puttered his way over to the shiny new laptop that Crowley always kept on the coffee table. The only person who really used it was Adam, and that was only when he wanted to show off the fact that he could figure out a game and also get the high score in five seconds flat. Aziraphale edged around the couch. The laptop wasn’t going to  _ explode  _ or anything, but he always hated new technology. There was never enough time to work out the kinks before they put something else out on the market for Crowley to switch them to. 

Aziraphale made himself sit on the couch with it’s knitted throw. He drew the blanket over his shoulders, one hand automatically going to the small stitch that he had messed up when making it. With the other he carefully opened up the laptop. His reflection stared back at him in the black screen, looking equally stressed. 

“Turn on, please,” He said, clearing his throat. The laptop obediently did so, despite the fact that there were no such thing as smart computers yet. That would come later, when a very lucky intern would overhear Crowley ordering his own laptop around in some backend coffeeshop in Los Angeles. But at the moment, neither angel nor demon had any intention of vacationing in America. Too rowdy. Too young. Not enough history. Those were the main excuses that they came up with. 

Aziraphale really didn’t know what to look up, now that he was here. Instead, he sort of thought about it, and the computer obediently pulled up the search engine. In record time it drew up some articles for him to sift through. 

A knock at the door several hours later startled Aziraphale from his studying. Crowley came in from the back door, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like Bach’s Fat-bottomed Girls. 

“No matter why you haven’t been bothering me. Enjoying the internet are we?” Crowley asked brightly, going to get the door. 

“Yes. It’s...helpful, I’m just, you know, looking at knitting patterns,” Aziraphale said rather guiltily. The computer obediently flickered to a cozy that would even give any angel a run for their money when trying to create it. Crowley grunted in response, swinging the door open for the hoard of rambunctious thirteen year olds crowding on their doorstep. 

“Crowley!” Adam yelled, throwing his arms around Crowley. Crowley indulgently patted the curls on top of his head, throwing Aziraphale a look of mild annoyance. Aziraphale beamed, knowing deep down that Crowley loved their godson. The right godson. A pang of guilt again. He had forgotten to send Warlock a card for his birthday. Ah, well, it was only a few more days away, no one needed to know that the post couldn’t possibly deliver it in such an amount of time without divine intervention. 

Already Pepper and Brian wormed their way around the reunion in the doorstep. Pepper was looking around, sniffing appreciatively. 

“Zira, man, you’ve outdone yourself,” The girl said, dropping yet another obvious hint that she was hungry  _ now.  _ Aziraphale shut the laptop screen and stood, stretching. 

“I made your favorite, given that it was your birthday yesterday,” Aziraphale said, leading the charge into the kitchen. Pepper took the lead, looking rather proud of herself. Adam fell half a step behind her, looking for all the world like someone who was only indulging a very excitable niece or nephew in a candy store. 

“Fourteen, big age,” Crowley said, following the kids into the kitchen. 

“Yup,” Pepper said, popping the p. “And, I’m gonna know all there is to know about being fourteen before these losers.” 

“My birthday is only three days after yours,” Adam complained. 

“I remember when I was your age,” Pepper said, a wicked smile on her face just before she took a massive bite out of the banana bread muffin Aziraphale had just given her. 

“When I was your age, there was an unfortunate bit between two brothers--” Aziraphale began. Crowley gave him a look, getting him to stop before the teens could latch onto the fact that they could learn about yet another biblical phenomenon. 

“Oi, kids, I got a prize for you in the back that involve paintball guns,” Crowley said loudly, clapping his hands together. Aziraphale sighed, giving Crowley a look that spoke volumes about how many safety measures he just had to miracle into existence just then. Crowley winked at him as he passed, guiding the rambunctious Them to their next bout of fun. 

Aziraphale watched Crowley from the kitchen sink, that warm feeling building in his chest as he watched him interact with the teens. It was the sort of feeling that made him want to get a fish with Crowley, or maybe even a dog. They could handle a dog, he knew. Maybe one of those short little legged puppies. Aziraphale was so wrapped up in daydreams involving finding Crowley fast asleep on the couch with their corgi that he completely missed where the loud  _ pop  _ came from. He jerked from his reverie, noticing that Crowley was making a beeline for the cottage.

“Is everything okay?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley crashed in. Crowley uncharacteristically slammed the door shut, looking panicked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said, before Aziraphale could think to goad his feet into moving to comfort Crowley. The demon scrubbed at his face with one hand, the other holding the door shut.

“Kids brought a firecracker. Decided to surprise me is all,” Crowley managed finally. He managed a weak smile for Aziraphale. “Gonna shower actually. Got some dirt in my hair.” Crowley darted away to their bedroom. Aziraphale watched him go, another thing clicking into place. 

There was a hesitant knock at the door, and a moment later Adam slipped in. 

“I saw uncle Crowley dart inside. Wensleydale thought it would be great fun to scare a demon, and Pepper dared him that he wouldn’t even get a reaction,” Adam said, looking positively glum. Aziraphale cleared his thoughts of Crowley. 

“It’s quite alright Adam. I just think he’s a bit off today. Be sure to check that there are no more firecrackers for me? I think your uncle would be really upset if one of you set one of his plants on fire,” Aziraphale said. Adam nodded dutifully, looking for all the world like a general on a mission as he marched back outside. Aziraphale watched him go before setting about cleaning the kitchen of all the muffin wrappers. 

The children played with the paint guns until their parents arrived at the front of the cottage late that evening. Crowley had not appeared for very long except to steal a bite of mashed potatoes off of Aziraphale’s plate. He had put on a brave face, cracking jokes about the accuracy that Brian had when it came to shooting the other kids in more sensitive areas. And then he was gone again, the door shut softly in his wake. 

To Adam’s credit, he put on a show so that the other children would not notice the absence or the worried look on Aziraphale’s face. He spent the entire time devising plans for their next bout of paintball wars, which would be the next weekend in celebration for Adam’s birthday. Aziraphale loved the Them very much, but it was a relief to have them finally out the door at last. The silence in their wake was uncomfortably loud, and yet Aziraphale made himself make two cups of tea before knocking on the door to the bedroom.

“Mmrnrgn,” Crowley called from inside. Aziraphale nudged the door open, spotting Crowley face down on the bed in a raggedy queen shirt and equally raggedy beige argyle patterned pajama bottoms that were originally Azirphale’s. 

“I brought you tea,” Aziraphale offered, making his way to the edge of the bed. He sat down carefully, extending Crowley’s cup out. Crowley sat up, pushing his hair out of his face. He sat cross-legged on the bed and took the cup, blowing on it distractedly. 

“It’s the perfect temperature,” Aziraphale added. He hated seeing Crowley like this. Speaking of, he almost never saw Crowley like this. There was a time in the diner after the bombs in the 1940’s, but he had chalked it up to Crowley being tired from his century long nap. Crowley took a dutiful sip, before setting it carefully on top of a first edition novel that Aziraphale was in the middle of rereading. Aziraphale leaned over, placing a coaster on top of the book and then Crowley’s tea cup on top of that. 

The demon hardly noticed Aziraphale’s pointed act of kindness, instead choosing to sprawl backwards onto the bed again. Aziraphale sipped at his tea some more, wondering what was the best way to go about things. 

“I was looking at some articles on the laptop,” Aziraphale began, setting his empty cup down. Crowley made another noise that sounded like a solid complaint about whatever Aziraphale had thought up. 

“Shush, I’m being serious,” Aziraphale said, pushing Crowley’s hip in annoyance. Crowley grunted in annoyance before shifting over so his head was in Aziraphale’s lap. 

“I’m listening,” Crowley said dutifully, eyes looking anything but serious as he stared up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale pursed his lips, starting to play with Crowley’s hair so that he would at least listen for the next few minutes. 

“I saw that there were some psychologists that would define your quirks as post-traumatic stress disorder,” Aziraphale began. Crowley cut him off with a scoff. 

“I don’t have any trauma,” Crowley said. Aziraphale stared at him, giving him one of those looks that said everything. 

“Look, I fall from Heaven one time and get tortured in a bath of sulphur and lose my grace. Whatever,” Crowley conceded, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been to war yourself, so why don’t you have it?” 

“Because, I have a clear conscience, and also, I don’t avoid things like you do,” Aziraphale said, regretting the words as soon as they were out. Crowley sat up abruptly, shifting to the far side of the bed. 

“Right, right. If only I hadn’t run with the wrong crowd. Then I would be hunky dory with the whole death and destruction bit,” Crowley said sourly. He stood up, a leather jacket materializing on his frame. 

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked, anxiety bubbling in his chest. Silently he cursed himself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not at all. 

“To look at the stars. The one thing I did right, apparently,” Crowley said, stomping out. Aziraphale hesitated for half a heartbeat, before chasing him out. Crowley stood in the backyard, the sunset just starting to allow the stars to form overhead. The light pollution of the street never reached their cottage, and they always had a gorgeous view of the heavens above. He stood barefoot in the damp paint-splattered grass, the plants leaning towards him as they would the sun. Aziraphale paused long enough to put on some slippers, making a racket so that Crowley knew he would be coming. 

“My dear, I just want to help you. Will you let me?” Aziraphale asked, stopping just a pace away. He watched Crowley’s shoulders fold in on himself, could picture the coal-black wings shielding him from the world. 

“I don’t know how to accept help,” Crowley rumbled softly. 

“We have all of eternity to learn,” Aziraphale managed, trying his best to make his comment light-hearted. Crowley gave a short laugh. 

“Yeah, an eternity with me,” He said. He dropped his shoulders and turned to Aziraphale, holding his hand out to him. Aziraphale took it, letting Crowley draw him close. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Aziraphale said, and kissed Crowley’s nose. Crowley wrinkled his nose, making a face. 

“I’m not saying that I have any sort of trauma, but I’ll try to tell you when I’m not feeling all that great,” Crowley allowed. 

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said gratefully. Crowley turned away and pointed towards another star. Aziraphale followed his gaze, listening to Crowley’s voice drone in his chest as he rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder. 


End file.
